As You Like It
by bitchy brunette
Summary: A B/S story with a refreshing twist.


Title: As You Like It  
Summary: You wanted Buffy and Spike? You got it.  
Archive: ff.net  
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters.  
Comments: In my opinion, the only way Buffy could seriously see Spike was if he was good. A chip that teaches him to behave by primitive animalistic methods is not a cure or a solution. It isn't even a good excuse.  
Feedback: kimmie@e-mailanywhere.com  
  
  
  
  
"Spike?" Buffy looked around the brightly-lit room. "Spike, where are you? I can't see you."   
"I'm here, sugar-muffin." Spike stepped down from a ladder.   
"What'cha doing?" Buffy twirled a finger in one of her blonde pigtails.   
"Decorating." Buffy let her eyes wander over the room.   
The bed was in one far corner of the once gloomy crypt, covered in pink satin sheets, complete with matching comforter. A white carpet had been installed, and Spike went to large pains to keep his wonderful human friends from walking on it clad in shoes. A fireplace had been cut into one wall, and when it burned, Spike kept nice smelling herbs in it, to brighten moods or relax visitors. Frilly yellow drapes, complete with sunflowers embroidered on them kept the light out, but let in the sunny brightness of their color. The couch, once dark and leather had been replaced with a pure ivory one. It was covered in a plastic slipcover ever since Xander had a near accident with grape juice Spike himself had served. Buffy giggled perkily. Buffy always did things perkily, now that her life was perfect. "Well, I came to spend some time with you, Snuggle bunny."   
Spike grinned, always the a gentleman. "You know how happy that makes me. You look very nice in uniform." Buffy giggled again.   
Her yellow and maroon cheerleading outfit had been donned that morning, since she was needed to boost spirit at the pep assembly. "I know. But you can tell me some more." She told him, taking Spike's hand as they sat on the couch.   
"I never get tired of looking upon such beauty, such perfection. I wrote a poem for you." Spike declared dramatically, handing her the paper with a flourish.   
"Ooh, how sweet." Buffy read it, frowning immediately.   
"It doesn't rhyme." She pouted prettily.   
But her pout was perky, too, Spike noticed. "Darling, poems don't always rhyme. But I'd make the world rhyme for you, snookums."   
Buffy still looked unhappy. "Dr. Seuss always rhymes and he's the best poet ever, maybe next to Shel Silverstein."   
"Oh, I'm sorry sweetie. Shall I write another?" Buffy put the paper on the table.   
"No. Don't bother. I want to do something. We never go out on dates. Why don't you take me out anymore?" Spike looked at her strangely.   
"Baby cakes, I'm a vampire. I can't go out in the daylight, remember? We patrol at night? Not much dating opportunity left after that." Buffy gasped.  
"Did you just say you were a vampire?" Spike raised an eyebrow.   
"Uh, yeah. I have been for a long time. You remember, I told you." Buffy stood up, and perkily stomped her little foot.   
"No you did not."   
"Did so."   
"Did not!"   
"I did so!" Spike growled.   
Buffy screamed. "Don't do that to me!" Spike threw up his hands.   
"Bloody hell, don't you have a brain in that head of yours? What did you think when I drank blood and my face changed?" Buffy sniffled, running her toe through the carpet.   
"Uh, that you were just unique. And I thought that was cranberry juice!" Spike nearly screamed himself.   
"In a marked package that said 'Type: O positive'?" Buffy shurgged.   
"Yeah. What does that junk mean anyway? I didn't know cranberry juice had types." Spike roared, grabbing Buffy's perky neck and wringing it.   
"You moron! You fumbling ignorant brainless ditzy idiot!" He strung everything he'd been keeping in for the last three months together, slamming her head against the floor as his knees buckled and she fell limp.   
The carpet was dirty. But Spike suddenly felt like an enormous burden had been lifted from his soul. He also realized that the chip hadn't acted up at all as he killed Buffy. "So you realized she wasn't worth oxygen, too?" He asked to no one in particular.   
Spike promptly tore up the crypt, lighting the disgustingly pink bed on fire. He would've torched the curtains, too, but that'd have to wait until nightfall. Spike leaned back on the blood-spattered sofa. "A job well done. Now what to do tonight? Maybe some babe hunting..."   
  
A/N: So all of you that suggested writing a fic where you could shag Spike all night long? There ya go. I freed him up for you. So now try and tell me I never did anything for the Spike lovers out there... 


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